Kiss- Frog Prince Retold

by Demelza Carlton

  For something her wary eyes said she would never agree to.

  Philemon sighed and slipped the robe over his head, hiding his arousal as he tried to think of anything but the beautiful girl before him. Beautiful. Untouchable. Unless he was a frog, when she took him in her hands and…

  "Will the spell object if I sit beside you? Or will you turn back into a frog?"

  Philemon's eyes sprang open to find Anahita sinking to her knees before him. No, beside him on the bedroll, close enough to touch if he took his place beside her. A place she patted, a playful expression on her face.

  "I rarely bite, Philemon. Except when it's my dinner." She accepted a bowl from Asad.

  "Sit down, and hide that tent in your tunic," Asad muttered, shoving a second bowl at Philemon.

  Philemon did as he was told, telling himself that if he'd had a sister as irresistible as Anahita, he would be just as protective.

  But she sat close enough for him to feel the heat of her through his thin robe, while her brothers sat on the other side of the fire, their eyes fixed on Philemon. Torture. Temptation. Both terrible and yet…

  "You should have left the stew to cook for longer. The meat is tougher than I like," Anahita said.

  Asad shrugged. "Use your dagger to cut it into smaller pieces. Or don't eat it. It is all the same to me."

  Anahita's arm bumped his side. "What do you think, Philemon? Do you agree that Asad did not cook the lamb enough?"

  Philemon turned his attention to his food. He spooned up some of the stew and brought it to his lips. The sauce was well spiced and salted, but so was the meat. Spiced lamb as good as anything he'd tasted in Tasnim. He owned it was a little chewy, but no more so than any slice of roast lamb he'd eaten in the past. Right now, it might as well have been manna from heaven, it tasted so good. Before he'd realised it, he'd finished the bowl. "Is there more?" he asked.

  Too late did he realise that Anahita and her brothers might not have enough food to satisfy him, especially after so long eating like a frog.

  Asad scraped a spoon through the pot, eyeing Philemon across the fire. "Maybe," Asad said slowly. "What price would you pay me for it?"

  Anahita hushed him. "Philemon is our guest. It breaks the laws of hospitality to expect a guest to pay for a meal we invited him to."

  "To hear you tell it, he claims to be the Prince of Tasnim. Do you know how much it costs for the privilege of a bowl of lamb stew in Tasnim?" Asad asked.

  A man who drove a hard bargain. Philemon could respect that. "I will trade one for the other. A meal at my table in Tasnim, for a meal here at yours." He glanced around. "A meal for all of you, with as much of my best wine as you wish."

  Asad wiped his hands. "Take note, Ana. No man of Tasnim would pay such a price for a simple meal, let alone a prince. I don't know who your frog man is, but he is not who he claims to be. A meal in Tasnim costs a prince's ransom. If he'd tossed me a gold coin for stew that would cost him two coppers in the capital, I'd have believed him." He bowed mockingly in Philemon's direction. "Perhaps you will have more luck fooling the next caravan who offer to help you. I am going to go water the dunes, and I will be a while." He marched off into the darkness, muttering under his breath.

  Haidar rose from his seat and peered into the pot. "There is plenty left, if you want it. No matter what he says, Asad is as hospitable as the rest of us. It's yours." He held out the spoon.

  Philemon rose and stepped forward to accept it.

  On his second step, the world constricted to crush him.

  Twenty-Four

  Anahita watched in stunned horror as Philemon's robe fluttered to the sand, seemingly empty but for a tiny bulge she knew had to be his frog body, especially when it moved. She rushed forward and scooped him up, robe and all, then dropped him back on her bedroll. She wasn't sure what magic let him become a man there, but she intended to find out. She might not be an enchantress, but she still was a witch, even if all she could do was understand animals.

  Though understanding Philemon was proving quite a challenge. She'd never met a frog like him – or a man like him, either.

  The robe ballooned out as the magic in him turned him into a man again, or at least she hoped so. Philemon groaned.

  "I'm going to check on the camels," Haidar said pointedly. "Like Asad, I will be a while."

  Anahita didn't pay him more than a fleeting glance and a distracted nod as she patted down the robe to find the man she hoped was inside. He felt…normal.

  A sigh of relief whooshed out of her as his head emerged from the neck of the robe. "Thank heavens," she breathed.

  Philemon sat up suddenly, and his face was dangerously close to hers. It was now or never.

  Anahita took a deep breath, then pressed her lips to his.

  Please let this kiss break the curse, she prayed to anyone who was listening.

  For a second, they stayed there like that, before Philemon leaned back and broke the contact between them. "What was that?" he asked.

  Her heart sank. "A kiss, of course. Asad thinks that a kiss from me might break your curse, and as we arrive at our destination tomorrow, you might appreciate being able to walk around and talk to people as a man again, as I will not be as…available."

  "Yes, I have heard that women can be quite busy at weddings. Especially if they are close to the bride," Philemon said drily.

  Anahita wet her lips. Dare she tell him the truth? No, she could not risk it. "Yes, I am close to her. So if I can help you break the curse, it must be tonight."

  "You must kiss me tonight?"

  Curse him, it almost sounded like he was holding back laughter.

  "I already did," she snapped.

  He did laugh then, a rich sound that echoed off the dunes. Nothing like the reedy voice of a frog. It did things to her belly. "That wasn't a kiss. Definitely not something a spell would recognise."

  Anahita pouted. "What sort of kiss does a spell recognise? Tell me and I shall do it."

  "I don't know for certain, never having broken a spell with one before, but I imagine a kiss with the power to break spells would need some passion behind it. You'd need both your heart and soul in it. And your tongue."

  "My tongue?" What was she supposed to do with her tongue? Lick him? Desperately, Anahita wished she'd brought Maram along. She knew about kissing, and such things. For all her husbands, Anahita had never kissed a man in her life. This idea was rapidly turning into a terrible one. But if she could break the curse, she had to do it tonight. For tomorrow would be too late. "Very well."

  His face loomed close – almost too close – and he lifted a hand to her cheek. Not to capture her, like other men might have. No, his fingers brushed against her hair as his palm cupped her jaw, sensing she needed the support or reassurance. Leaving her free to flee if she needed to.

  But she did not need to, Anahita scolded herself and her racing heart. Why, even her breath was coming fast now.

  His thumb traced her lips. The top one, then the bottom, as she forced herself to exhale slowly.

  "Don't be afraid," he said softly.

  She wasn't afraid. She wasn't. By all that was holy…

  Then his lips touched hers, and she forgot all else.

  He inhaled, stealing her breath, before sealing his mouth to hers. Her mouth opened almost of its own accord, her lips following his. And then his tongue stroked hers, a teasing invitation to come out to play.

  She wasn't afraid.

  She cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him back with all of her being. Tongue, lips, breath, heart…maybe even her very soul. Clumsily at first, but when he didn't seem to care, she grew bolder, opening her eyes and raising them to meet his.

  And she was lost. Utterly and completely lost, yet found, never wanting to stop…

  "Ana. Ana!"

  Who was calling her name at such a moment?

  "Breathe, Ana."

  Her face was pressed against a broad chest as a tender hand stroked her hair.

 
She sucked in a breath, then another, relishing the taste of him on her lips, her tongue. The heat of him, so close.

  "Philemon, why did you stop?" she asked.

  Laughter rumbled beneath her cheek. "What do you think your brothers would do if they knew you'd kissed a frog with such passion you'd forgotten to breathe?"

  Her brothers? Anahita flicked her fingers. "Nothing, I'm sure. They hardly know I exist, so I'm sure they would not care what happens to me."

  "Not so. Haven't they been watching us all evening? I'm sure Asad and Haidar care very much about you. So much that if they knew what we had just done, they would happily bury me alive in a desert grave before dawn."

  It was her turn to laugh. "Asad and Haidar aren't my brothers! They're my father's sworn men!"

  Haidar's voice came out of the dark. "Your sworn eunuchs!"

  Philemon stiffened.

  "Sworn to protect me," Anahita amended. "Ready to come at my call, should I need their help."

  Philemon eased away from her. "Men who would happily remove a frog from your bed. I should find my own bed, or bucket." He rose.

  Anahita grabbed his arm. "No! If any kiss can break a curse, that one should have done so. Surely. You should sleep here. I will take some of the spare cushions and things in the tent. Or take Asad's bedroll. He often complains it is too soft for him." She bit her lip, unable to tear her eyes away from his. Philemon looked so…so sad. "Tell me that kiss was enough!"

  He sighed. "One kiss from you will never be enough, and yet, it must be. But yes, if any kiss had curse-breaking powers, it was yours." He pried her hand from his arm. "I thank you for your hospitality tonight, and pray that your dreams are sweet."

  Her dreams were never sweet. Especially not the night before she married. Anahita turned away before Philemon could see her grimace.

  "Sweet dreams to you, too, Philemon," she called over her shoulder with forced lightness as she trudged to the tent where she hoped she might get some sleep tonight.

  Twenty-Five

  "Oh no!" The feminine wail woke Philemon from what had been a sound sleep.

  He scrambled out of the covers and blinked in the blazing sun. He'd missed the dawn, this time. Possibly because the blankets on Anahita's bed had blocked it out. "What is it?" he mumbled, wishing his mouth didn't taste like the inside of someone else's sweaty sandal. He'd drunk too much wine last night.

  "The curse didn't break!" Already on her knees, she stretched her hands out to Philemon, and he stepped onto them without thinking.

  "No," he agreed. He hadn't the heart to break it to her that the only kisses capable of breaking curses came from princesses, and this desert girl wasn't capable of fooling a curse into believing she was royalty when she wasn't. Besides, the witch had said something about a princess's bed being the key. Perhaps Anahita's bedroll had once belonged to some minor princess before someone stole it for her.

  He was damn sure that he'd given Anahita her first kiss. He'd meant to make it quick and light, but the moment her natural passion had asserted itself, pushing aside her initial awkwardness, he hadn't been able to let her go. It had been like drowning, with her lips breathing life into him for the first time. And yet, they'd been so intent on each other, they'd forgotten to breathe.

  "You don't have time for that today. You need to get dressed, so we can head out," Haidar said, holding out the water bag Philemon usually rode in.

  Philemon hopped into the cool water. Darkness engulfed him as someone stoppered the bag, but he wasn't worried. He'd push the stopper out once he felt the sway of the camel beneath him, when they were under way.

  In the meantime, he dreamed of Anahita's kisses, and how he might manage to keep her forever.

  The bag lurched to one side, then back, water sloshing around Philemon as the camel rose cumbrously to its feet. The ride began bumpily at first, until the camel settled into a steady pace. Finally.

  Philemon set his shoulder against the stopper, pushing until he felt it pop free.

  "So what does a frog have to promise a lady to be invited to her table again tonight?" he asked, peering up.

  Haidar shook his head. "I don't speak frog, so save your croaking. Her Highness has no time for pets today. Even her precious bird rides with Asad."

  Philemon leaned out further so that he might see the truth of Haidar's words. Before them rode Asad, with the bird on a perch strapped to his saddle. And behind them…

  Philemon swallowed. The white veiled desert maiden was no more. Instead, she wore the colours of the desert, a bright reddish orange stiff with gold embroidery that made her glitter in the sun. The rich robe draped over the saddle so extravagantly that the silk hid both her and the saddle completely. As the sun rose higher, the cloth canopy above her would shelter her from its heat, but now the only shadow it cast landed on her face, so he could not even see her eyes.

  She looked like some desert queen out of legend, ready to lead an army into immortality. No, to accept a defeated army's surrender. Dressed so, she was clearly no warrior. Her Highness…so she was a princess after all? Or was it all a pretence?

  A stolen bedroll, stolen clothes…was she a pretend princess, or a very real one? He wanted to ask, but Haidar would not understand him.

  Philemon stared at the regal statue that had to be Anahita for a moment longer before he retreated back into his water bag, pulling the stopper into place behind him.

  Twenty-Six

  Muffled shouting as the camels drew to a halt caught Philemon's attention first. The rough descent as his camel sank to its knees confirmed it. They'd arrived somewhere. Their destination, perhaps? A long moment passed, but no one unloaded his water bag, so he pushed at the stopper to peep at his surroundings.

  A desert nomad camp stretched out across the sand, brightly coloured tents huddled together against the surrounding dunes. The men who had assembled to greet the small caravan wore clothing as patched as the tents. Despite its size, this was not a prosperous camp.

  A clinking sound drew everyone's attention away from the new arrivals.

  Could it be Rahat?

  The crowd parted to let a man through. A man who looked like he'd raided his mother's jewel chest and had no idea how ridiculous he looked, wearing his mother's treasures. Gold bangles covered his forearms, and countless gold chains weighed down his thick neck, some of them dangling as low as his protruding belly. The silk robe he wore looked like he'd stolen it from some courtesan, for surely no one else would wear such a garish shade of purple. Except perhaps a fool in the Sultan's court.

  But no man knelt before a jester, like these were now. Whoever this fool was, no one dared mock him.

  Even Haidar and Asad, who stepped forward to press their foreheads to the dust at the man's feet.

  "Most Honoured Sheikh Basit, we bring a gift from the Sultan. Your bride, Her Highness, Princess Anahita."

  Anahita's camel was the only one still standing, so she towered above all of them, including – Philemon swallowed back bile – her incensed future husband.

  "A good, obedient bride does not sit higher than her husband. She must abase herself," the sheikh announced.

  Philemon smirked. Anahita wasn't the abasing kind. This would be interesting.

  Asad and Haidar rose and headed for Anahita. A command from Asad made the camel kneel, so that Anahita could dismount, but the girl didn't move. Instead, Asad and Haidar each took one of her arms and lifted her off the beast, carried her several feet, then deposited her on the sand. Her robe puddled around her feet, spreading into a train that swept along the sand behind her as she crossed the distance between her and her hideous husband-to-be.

  To Philemon's astonishment, she dropped to her knees, then threw herself facedown on the sand.

  The sheikh smiled. Then he lifted his slippered foot and brought it down on her neck.

  Philemon gasped, but no one heard. He wanted to storm across the sand and shove the sheikh away from her, but as a frog, he couldn't do anything.

&
nbsp; So much for Haidar and Asad claiming to be her sworn men. They weren't anything of the kind – a man sworn to protect her would have killed the sheikh by now, yet he still stood there, ready to break her neck with one stomp of his foolish foot. They really were eunuchs.

  Was this why Anahita had tried so hard to break the curse last night? So that he could help her, when no one else would? No wonder she'd despaired when she discovered her kisses hadn't worked. She knew the fate that awaited her.

  Poor girl. Philemon couldn't begin to imagine what thoughts were going through Anahita's mind at that moment. Of one thing he was certain: she must be terrified.

  Twenty-Seven

  If she slipped a blade out of her wrist sheath, she could reach up and sever his Achilles tendon. Both of them, if she was quick. Throw a handful of sand in his eyes as she jumped to her feet, and run. Anahita's instincts urged her to do just that, but she knew she could not. Not yet. For if half the marketplace gossip about this man was true…she could not risk leaving him alive.

  Running could wait until after the deed was done. Until then, cold calculation would occupy her mind, as it always did. Haidar and Asad had taught her well.

  In the meantime, she allowed herself the small fantasy of choking him with the very shoe he'd balanced on the back of her neck. Watching his face grow red, then purple, then blue as he gasped for air that would never again reach his lungs…

  "Take her to the women's tent, where they can prepare her for our wedding. If she pleases me tonight, you can carry word back to your master on the morrow. If she does not…" The foot pressed against her neck, making it hard to breathe. "Perhaps I will make her head MY gift to the Sultan, and the next gift the Sultan sends will be more acceptable."

  The sheikh did not know how wrong he was, but Anahita had no desire to enlighten him just yet. His time would come, and she would enjoy it. For now, she forced her face to appear blank as Haidar and Asad took her arms and hauled her to her feet. She itched to brush the dust off her embroidered gown, but that, too, could wait. Some servant could deal with the damage when she returned home. She would not wear this again, if she could help it.